


Farewell to the Year

by Jaybird (theKyra)



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Implied Relationship, New Year's Eve, shameless use of song lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 01:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5562949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theKyra/pseuds/Jaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One stands alone in an empty house, trying to ignore the holidays. Another sits in an office, having forgotten what the date is. Of course, this can't be allowed to stand. Post-series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Syrena_of_the_lake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/gifts).



_Love endures, it clings away_   
_When asked to leave, it begs to stay_   
_Like the perfect song, at imperfect times_   
_It's the way the chords struck with the rhymes_   
_So let your troubles roll by..._

“Let Your Troubles Roll By,” Carbon Leaf

As far as winters went, this one had been mild so far. This was fine.

As far as holidays went, hers had been lonely. This was less fine, though expected.

Still, things could've been worse. She'd quickly resolved her latest case, was taking a short end-of-year vacation, and had received a box of fresh chocolate chip cookies from Hanson, who claimed to have baked them. If he actually _had_ made them... well, the cookies were fantastic.

When faced with the layers upon layers of secrets that Henry possessed, she'd forgotten that regular people had secrets and hidden talents, too.

It was funny, in a way, how she had learned Henry's biggest secret and instead of everything suddenly making sense, only a few things had become clear. The habit of talking like century-old history had happened only a month ago, the skinny dipping, the pocketwatch—that much made sense now. But Henry himself... was as much of an enigma as he'd always been.

Even now, months after she'd found that photo and finally, _finally_ gotten something of an explanation, however difficult to believe, Jo still felt like she'd only just broken past the surface, past the harmless, eccentric facade Henry presented.

Henry was a good man, a good friend. He just . . . didn't make any logical sense. It didn't help that he was the most secretive person she'd ever met, a master of deflecting questions, and—as she was beginning to learn—intensely paranoid. For good reason, according to Abe—and that was still decidedly weird, knowing the real relationship between Henry and Abe.

Holding a warm blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders, Jo headed back to her kitchen for another mug of coffee. Even as she poured out the last drops in the coffeepot, she was acutely aware of the absence of any and all alcohol in the house. Henry's idea, to curb her impulsive drinking and the lingering remnants of her tendency towards alcoholism. Abruptly she caught herself wondering if _he_ had experience with turning to drink in response to loss. Given how badly shaken he'd been by the cold case of Abe's mother—the mythical Abigail whose photo still sat on Henry's desk—it certainly seemed possible.

A knock at the door interrupted as she made her way back to her couch and Netflix binge. With a touch of eagerness that surprised her, Jo turned instead to the front hall. She transferred her mug to the hand holding her blanket as she reached the door, then pulled it open.

“Henry?” she said, both surprised and confused. “What are you doing here?”

\- - - - - - -

The end of the year was always a busy month in New York—holiday shopping was rampant, more people than usual were traveling in and out of the city, and, of course, there were the preparations for the yearly New Year's Eve celebrations in Times Square: a tradition now well over a hundred years old and one he'd seen on several occasions, most of them with Abigail and a much younger Abraham.

Perhaps as was to be expected, the OCME was as busy as the rest of the city. Deaths tended to spike in December, even as crime generally dropped. Most of the other staff had long since gone home, but Henry had remained, puzzling over a body that had come in that morning. On some level he knew there was little point in spending any more time on the Jane Doe. He and Lucas had been over the body twice, and their working theory—poison, though surprisingly not one Henry recognized—relied on the tox screens that wouldn't come back for days. Days, if not weeks.

The case was a source of frustration, if nothing else. In Jo's absence, Detective Hanson was running the investigation—and would no doubt be doing a fine job of it if he had anything to go on. But this particular body . . . well, it was unusual. The victim seemed to be in perfect health, aside from the unfamiliar poison that had no doubt killed her. She was young, well-dressed . . . and had altered fingerprints. Rare, though not unheard of. Her DNA matched nothing in their systems—which was likely not helped by the fact that she appeared to be a chimera, a human with the DNA of two organisms instead of only one. A twin, probably. The victim's blood had confirmed his theory a few hours earlier—two different blood types, a hallmark of human chimerism.

If the case wasn't as odd as it was, it might have been fascinating. Instead, it was simply . . . confusing. Without a name for the Jane Doe, Hanson had nowhere to start. She'd been found in a park, with nothing on her person except for a well put-together outfit. Hanson's theory was that she'd been mugged; Henry disagreed. Muggers didn't use poison.

A phone rang. For a moment, Henry expected someone else to answer it before remembering that he was alone—and noticing that it was actually his rarely-used desk phone. Phones were convenient, certainly, but he wouldn't call Jo when he could (normally) walk upstairs to go talk to her in person. Not unless it was something especially urgent, and that was rare.

Picking up the phone, he answered it promptly, if a bit absently.

He recognized Lucas's voice immediately, and found himself oddly refreshed by the fact. “Hey, Doc! Your, uh, roommate said you were still at work—you _do_ know it's New Year's, right? Come on, the bodies aren't going anywhere overnight.”

“Your point?” Henry prompted, maintaining a polite tone with oft-practiced ease.

“Did you— You already forgot. About the New Year's Eve party, right?”

He paused for a moment. “To be quite honest, I seem to have forgotten that was today.”

“Does that mean you're actually going to come? Awesome—oh, Detective Hanson is asking if you'll go get Jo. She's not here either. Apparently she turned her phone off.”

He chuckled and agreed, “I'll stop there first, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

_And so a toast to the New Year, and farewell to the last_  
_May we dream ourselves forward, frozen wind at our backs_  
_Another toast to the New Year, may we spring back to life_  
_When the colors start shifting in the burgeoning light_

“A Toast to the New Year,” Carbon Leaf

He might have forgotten the date, but he remembered the invite—yesterday, shortly after lunch, Lucas had invited him to the New Year's party that Detective Hanson was organizing, to be held at his house. Lucas had then gone off on a tangent—something about how Hanson's house was bigger than that of the others who'd volunteered, followed by an idle, rhetorical comment about Hanson's kids. Remembering the detective's address was harder, but it seemed reasonable to assume that Jo probably knew it—and even if she didn't, she _would_ have Hanson's phone number.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the evening traffic was far worse than usual. Henry picked up a taxi outside the precinct, but ultimately cut his trip short and got out near the entrance to Jo's neighborhood. It would be somewhat faster to walk, and the weather was so pleasant for December that it would be a shame not to. It was rare to see such warm weather so late in the year; Henry fully intended to make the most of it.

He found her door easily, and she answered his knock quickly. The mingled surprise and confusion in her furrowed brow made clear that she hadn't been expecting any visitors, least of all him. Still, it wasn't an expression that said “go away” or anything similar. “Detective,” he started, hands clasped loosely behind his back, “would you care to join me at Detective Hanson's New Year's Eve celebration?”

For a moment, Jo didn't react. Then, with a slightly startled laugh she said, “I'm sure Hanson thinks he's clever. I'll come, just give me a few minutes to change.”

\- - - - - - -

As Henry had expected, the scene at Hanson's home was moderately chaotic. The actual number of people there was fairly low—no more than twenty adults and a handful of children—but the house was small enough to feel just a little crowded, and the kids alone were making quite a racket. He'd been pleasantly surprised to find his drink of choice available in the kitchen, and promptly found himself drawn into a conversation about the merits of libraries as opposed to cheap, digital versions of books. Well, not so much a conversation as an argument, but at least his fellow library supporters were winning.

A couple of kids, a boy of about thirteen and a girl of similar age, charged past, nearly knocking Lucas over in their haste to cross the kitchen and reach the other end of the house. Offering Lucas a sympathetic smile, Henry stepped away from the argument about libraries—which had moved on from a discussion of merits to something that more resembled a petty argument of numbers—and skirted around them to join Lucas at the far end of the kitchen. Catching the younger man's mildly irritated look, he remarked, “I take it you're not terribly fond of children?”

“No, no,” Lucas objected, “I don't mind kids, I just—I'm not really a fan of the whole running around like lunatics bit.”

With a quiet chuckle Henry replied, “Fair enough. How has your evening been, Lucas?”

“Uh. Fine, I guess? Hey, have you seen Jo anywhere? She kind of. . . disappeared.”

Especially in light of Jo's earlier comment, this did not strike Henry as being at all subtle. He knew that the brief period of uncertainty between them that had occurred after the truth had come out had been noticed, but he and Jo had slowly settled back into something resembling their previous friendship. That the others were trying to prod them together was not unexpected—endearing, really—but ultimately pointless. Even now, months after the fact, he knew Jo didn't quite trust him. Didn't quite _believe_ him. Their friendship stood on rocky ground—to suggest anything else seemed dangerous.

But two could play this game. “I'm sure Detective Martinez is here somewhere,” he said mildly. “Have you tried looking in some of the quieter rooms?” But before Lucas could reply, the same two children returned, running back through the kitchen. This time, one of them actually bumped into him, knocking him sideways into the argument about libraries. As had happened to Henry only a short time earlier, one of the individuals involved in the argument roped Lucas into the conversation, allowing Henry to meander out of the kitchen.

By the time he found Jo again, the hour was growing late, nearly midnight according to the clock on the television, which had been tuned to coverage of Times Square for at least half an hour. Nearly all of the kids were sitting in front of the screen now, anxiously awaiting the ball drop, and a few of the adults had moved their conversations to that room as well, though the kitchen continued to be the source of most of the noise in the house.

Henry had stepped out onto the back porch, mostly to gain a moment's respite from the noise, when he realized he wasn't alone in the brisk air. The porch was ringed with a simple wooden railing, upon which Jo was leaning, an empty wineglass set on the railing beside her elbow. He joined her there, resting his elbows on the railing with the empty glass between them, and after a few seconds he inquired, “How has your evening been?” 

“Good,” she said eventually. “It's been good. Thank you for the invite, by the way. I appreciate it.” 

“It was Detective Hanson's—” 

“Hanson's idea, I know,” she interrupted. “Still. Thanks.” 

“You're quite welcome,” he replied. 

They stood there in silence then, disturbed only by the occasional shout from inside and the sound of music playing a few houses down. After a while, Jo remarked with an amused tone, “You know, I'm starting to wonder if Hanson and Lucas have a point.” 

“A point?” he echoed, caught momentarily off guard. 

“Yeah. You can't tell me you haven't noticed the way the two of them keep trying to push us together. They've been doing it all month, and Lucas isn't subtle at all.” 

“The thought has occurred to me, yes.” 

“They might have a point. We'd just be proving them right, but. . . in this case I think I'd be okay with that.” As she finished, a cheer rose up from inside the house. Almost simultaneously, Jo checked her phone and laughed softly. “A minute to midnight. If you had anything else you wanted to get done this year, your time is running out.” 

“If there is anything I have plenty of, it's time,” he said wryly. 

She shrugged. The cheering started up again inside, likely signifying the final seconds of the year. As the display on her phone ticked over to midnight, she remarked, “Happy New Year, Henry.” 

“A new year, a new leaf?” 

“Something like that. Did they have champagne in there somewhere? I think that deserves a toast.”


End file.
